replied thoughtfully. Grumio thought he could sense her indifference lifting.
'You mentioned decoy trains-?' Kethry interjected.
'Yes, lady.' Grumio's mind was still worrying away at the puzzle these two presented. 'Only I and the men in the train knew which were the decoys and which were not, yet the bandits were never deceived, not once. We had taken extra care that all the men in the train were known to us, too.'
A glint of gold on the smallest finger of Kethry's left hand gave him the clue he needed, and the crescent scar on the palm of that hand confirmed his surmise. He knew without looking the swords-woman would have an identical scar and ring. These two had sworn Shin'a'in bloodoath, the strongest bond known to that notoriously kin- conscious race. The bloodoath made them closer than sisters, closer than lovers-so close they sometimes would think as one.
'So who was it that passed judgement on your estimable guards?' Tarma's voice was heavy with sarcasm.
'I did, or my fellow merchants, or our own personal guards. No one was allowed on the trains but those who had served us in the past or were known to those who had.'
Tarma held her blade up to catch the firelight and examined her work with a critical eye. Satisfied, she drove it home in the scabbard slung across her back with a fluid, unthinking grace, then swung one leg back over the bench to face him as her partner did. Grumio found the unflinching chill of her eyes disconcertingly hard to meet for long.
In an effort to find something else to look at, he found his gaze caught by the pendant she wore, a thin silver crescent surrounding a tiny amber flame. That gave him the last bit of information he needed to make everything fall into place-although now he realized that her plain brown clothing should have tipped him off as well, since most Shin'a'in favored garments heavy with bright embroideries. Tarma was a Sworn One, pledged to the service of the Shin'a'in Warrior, the Goddess of the New Moon and the South Wind. Only two things were of any import to her at all-her Goddess and her clan (which, of course, would include her 'sister' by bloodoath). The Sworn Ones were just as sexless and deadly as the weapons they wore.
'So why come to us?' Tarma's expression indicated she thought their time was being wasted. 'What makes you think that we can solve your bandit problem?'
'You -- have a certain reputation,' he replied guardedly.
A single bark of contemptuous laughter was Tarma's reply.
'If you know our reputation, then you also know that we only take those jobs that-shall we say-interest us,' Kethry said, looking wide-eyed and innocent. 'What is there about your problem that could possibly be of any interest to us?'
Good-they were intrigued, at least a little. Now, for the sake of poor little Lena, was the time to hook them and bring them in. His eyes stung a little with tears he would not shed-not now-
'We have a custom, we small merchant houses. Our sons must remain with their fathers to learn the trade, and since there are seldom more than two or three houses in any town, there is little in the way of choice for them when it comes time for marriage. For that reason, we are given to exchanging daughters of the proper age with our trade allies in other towns, so that our young people can hopefully find mates to their liking.' His voice almost broke at the memory of watching Lena waving good-bye from the back of her little mare-but he regained control quickly. It was a poor merchant that could not school his emotions. 'There were no less than a dozen sheltered, gently-reared maidens in the very first pack-train they took. One of them was my niece. My only heir.'
Kethry's breath hissed softly, and Tarma swallowed an oath.
'Your knowledge of what interests us is very accurate, merchant,' Tarma said after a long pause. 'I congratulate you.'
'You -- you accept?' Discipline could not keep hope out of his voice.
'I pray you are not expecting us to rescue your lost ones,' Kethry said as gently as she could. 'Even supposing that the bandits were more interested in slaves to be sold than their own pleasure-which in
my experience is not likely-there is very, very little chance that any of them still live. The sheltered, the gentle, well, they do not survive-shock- successfully.'
'When we knew they had not reached their goal, we sent agents to comb the slave markets. They returned empty-handed,' he replied with as much stoicism as he could muster. 'We will not ask the impossible of you; we knew when we sent for you there was no hope for them. No, we ask only that you wipe out this viper's den, to ensure that this can-never happen to us again-and that you grant us revenge for what they have done to us!'
His words -- and more, the tight control of his voice -- struck echoes from Tarma's own heart. And she did not need to see her partner to know her feelings in the matter.
'You will have that, merchant-lord,' she grated, giving him the title of respect. 'We accept your job- but there are conditions.'
